


Confessing Your Apostasies

by fallenlight



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Priests, Angst, Bottom Kim Jongin | Kai, Chaptered, Homophobia, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Top Do Kyungsoo | D.O
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenlight/pseuds/fallenlight
Summary: Empty words echo in the empty chapel. He crumbles at Kyungsoo's feet, coming undone with every whispered command. Jongin's been told that his body is a temple, but Kyungsoo worships every inch of his skin like he's God himself.Kyungsoo's never believed in God, but he finds God in the dip of Jongin's collarbone, finds God in the way Jongin calls his name, finds God in the way Jongin writhes in the sheets beneath him.Jongin's always found it easier to love God than to accept that he loves men, and was therefore born a sinner. Kyungsoo changes that.





	1. Led Away By Imperfect Imposters

Jongin’s barely three weeks old when they leave him in front of the church. He’s been taught never to hold a grudge, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling a sense of abandonment whenever he thinks about his faceless biological parents.

 

_And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us._

 

It’s instinctual, the way he forgives. He’s repeated this part of the Lord’s Prayer more times than he can count, the church’s effort to singe this into him eventually paying off. He doesn’t know anything else, he doesn’t ask any more than he has to.

 

The Fathers and Sisters of the church welcome this abandoned child with open arms, as they do all orphans that are left at their doorsteps.

 

_Never turn a child away for they are part of the Kingdom of God._

 

There’s always a waning smile on the Head Priest’s face when they receive orphans--- one that only grows more strained as each addition presents itself.

 

Jongin wonders if the bitterness in his gaze is one of condemnation. It takes him awhile to realise that the church is bursting at its seams, simply can’t afford another child that’s been left and forgotten, can’t afford another _burden_.

 

Jongin wonders if he had been the same. The thoughts are always pushed away as soon as they surface, a tiny part in him afraid of the omnipotent, all-knowing God that he’s learnt so much about. They linger in the back of his mind, nonetheless.

 

He hears from the Sisters that it was raining when he was left, a heavy downpour in a period of severe drought, a blessing from God Himself. And so that’s what they deemed little Jongin--- a blessing from the skies with his wide eyes and tanned skin, surprisingly quiet amidst the crashes of thunder and the sound of rain against tar.

 

And maybe that’s why the rain always has him on edge, hair standing on end as soon as the first bolt of lightning strikes. To Jongin, it’s nothing more than a symbol of abandonment; nothing like what the people of the Catholic Church had considered it to be all those years ago.

 

It’s no coincidence that it’s pouring when _he_ first steps into the church.

 

//

 

Growing up in the Church is everything you’d expect it to be.

 

Scuttling to early morning chapel sessions, preparing breakfast with the other children, getting chided by the Sisters for never making his bed--- Jongin grows up happy in this mundane lifestyle, shielded from the cruelty of the world but kept in a bubble of nothing but what they feed him. He has the lyrics to the doxology memorised before he learns how to divide and multiply, knows how to pray with a rosary before he understands what _kissing_ is.

 

Life surrounded by men and women with the fear of God instilled into them means that growing in the Holy Spirit takes precedence over the usual curriculum that nine year olds like Jongin should be receiving. But like most of the other children that attend classes at the Church’s school, he doesn’t know any better, doesn’t know any other way of living.

 

It doesn’t take much for him to fall in love with reading the scripture, absorbing every sermon that’s preached and wearing out the spine of his bible in no time.

 

He’s always been a little _too_ curious, even after that thirst for knowledge is stifled by many of his teachers that remind him of the dangers of excessive inquisition. He learns to take this in his stride, replacing his curiosity of life outside the church by delving into lengthy texts and countless passages.

 

It never truly stops him for thinking about the outside world.

 

//

 

Jongin is twelve when he oversleeps when it’s his turn to make breakfast, dark, purplish rings surrounding his usually vibrant eyes.

 

His pursuit of understanding and knowing more has hardly grown less intense, even with puberty hitting him--- and many of his peers that he’s grown up with--- with full force.

 

Staying up and reading is a norm for Jongin, but the act itself frowned upon by the Elders who make their rounds at night while the children are supposed to be sleeping. He’s been told that the candle he uses to illuminate the pages will wake the others up, and he knows that he really shouldn’t be going against what he’s been instructed to do, growing up wanting nothing but to _please_ \--- but he knows that if his mind is allowed to wander, he’d think about how _kissing_ feels and what it’d be like to have someone to hold.

 

//

 

Jongin is thirteen and sated with knowledge when he realises that the arms he visualises around himself are not slender and smooth like that of a woman, but stocky, with thick, protruding veins running up them.

 

Jongin is fourteen when he realises that he’s not like the other boys in his class that talk about how pretty that girl looks with her hair like that, or how sweet her voice sounds.

 

Jongin is fifteen when he realises that he needs to submerge himself in more sacred readings in order to keep that part of him away.

 

//

 

The confessional booth makes him far more claustrophobic than he should be, and although he’s done this a thousand times before, he can’t help but feel suffocated, more because of the weight in his chest and the heaviness of his heart than anything else.

 

_“And if your foot causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life lame than with two feet to be thrown into hell.”_

 

The Priest speaks a few words of scripture, one that Jongin knows by heart, has contemplated over the course of the year.

 

There is silence, and Jongin knows that he needs to start, but his hands are trembling on his lap, and he can’t form a coherent sentence.

 

He knows exactly what he _should_ say.

 

A year of trying not to stare at the boys who decided that changing in the bedroom was perfectly fine, a year of feigning interest in girls despite being too busy ogling at his own male peers--- A year of sin and regret resting on the tip of his tongue, threatening to bubble forth and spill over.

 

He’s pulled out of his reverie by the Priest’s soothing voice, prompting him again once more.

 

Two of his fingers brush across his forehead, torso and shoulders in the sign of the cross before he presses his palms together.

 

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned”, he speaks, voice weary.

 

His knees are starting to hurt with the way he’s kneeling in the booth but he can’t bring himself to care about rug burn, not with the thoughts in his head.

 

“My last confessional was one year ago and these are my sins.”

 

Jongin is sixteen when he tells his first lie (white lies spoken in his youth nothing compared to this). He doesn’t speak of the way he finds himself attracted to the same gender, doesn’t come close to mentioning that he’s afraid of rotting in hell because of who he’s made to love.

 

The Priest gives him his penance, 6 Hail Marys, and invites him to make an Act of Contrition. He’s barely thinking as he says the words which come to him naturally albeit the numbness in his chest.

 

“God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church, may God give you pardon and peace. I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

 

“Amen.”

 

“God has forgiven you of your sins. Go in peace.”

 

“Thanks be to God.”

 

Jongin leaves the Confessional and feels everything _but_ peace.

 

He’s confused and growing, and although he knows that he’s been encouraged to talk to the Fathers and Sisters about any of his problems, especially in adolescence, he keeps mum, takes this secret and shoves it into a crevice of his mind where he hopes to never find again, instead filling it with more than he’d possibly need to know about this religion that he’s been brought up to believe in.

 

Jongin is sixteen when he decides that if that he can’t choose whom to love, he’d rather not love a human at all. It’s easier to love God than to accept that he loves men and was therefore born a sinner. Jongin is sixteen when he devotes himself to serving and loving God and no one else.

 

The scripture--- everything that he’s learnt and studied--- leads him, _“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind.”_ He follows.

 

//

 

Jongin is twenty-two and has long since mastered the art of pretending that he doesn’t need a love other than God’s.

 

Growing up in the Church is everything you’d expect it to be.

 

Years of being taught almost nothing but the word of God means that he finishes his seminary much earlier than most of the people pursuing priesthood. While some of his counterparts are a couple of years older than him, most of them are far older, middle-aged men that have found their calling later on in life.

 

The weight of his decision only strikes him as he’s being ordained--- A lifetime of devotion to the Lord, pledging chastity and celibacy to the Catholic Church. It’s exactly what he _wants_ and everything that he’s worked for.

 

The Sisters that raised him bawl as the Bishop anoints Jongin’s hands with oil stems and it has a fond smile inching its way onto his lips at this family that he’s built in this sacred place. And now he truly _belonged_ , something that he so desperately chased for all twenty two years of his life--- a place to belong and call home.

 

//

 

Sunday Mass brings a flurry of sinners, all who more than ready to lay down their transgressions before the Lord.

 

Holy Communion Sunday always gathers the most people, Jongin’s found. It comes as no surprise; Men has always been easily wavered, practicing faiths that they never truly devote themselves to. He tries not to scrunch his nose at the thought.

 

Taking charge of passing out the holy sacraments is one of his many jobs during Mass, one that he doesn’t particularly enjoy, having clumsy fingers hardly manage to place wafers in the mouths of those who partake in the ceremony while whispering a stuttered “sorry” (he usually ends up smashing it into their teeth somehow) before moving on to whisper “the body of Christ that’s broken for you. Take, eat in remembrance of Him”.

 

He’s grateful that the crowd usually comprises of familiar faces, a small Church within a close-knit community. Dealing with strangers has never been his strong suit, but Jongin likes to think that he’s sociable and charismatic enough to interact comfortably with the many people that approach him for counsel every week. They know him well enough to understand that he’s a man of God, spiritually bound to the Church, having lived all his life here. He convinces himself to ignore the pitying looks that they throw in his direction every once in awhile, and the quiet murmurs of “ _orphan_ ” and “ _this is all he has_ ”.

 

Sometimes he wonders if the tight knit community is a good thing.

 

It starts raining halfway through the service; raindrops slipping down the stained glass in a way he’s always thought is melancholic. The beauty of it all doesn’t ease the tightness in his gut, no matter how much he tries to brush away this ridiculous fear.

 

(He’d think back to this moment every once in awhile, ponder what he would’ve done differently, analyse the many possibilities and outcomes every little act could’ve brought.)

 

The doors of the church squeak open, casting a shadow upon the newcomer.

 

Jongin’s breath catches in his throat.

 

The first thing he sees are a pair of eyes, ones that survey the surroundings almost mechanically before snapping in place, focusing directly on him despite the numerous pews between them. He tears his gaze away immediately; equal parts embarrassed and downright bewildered.

 

_Haven’t seen him around before..._

 

He only manages to regain his composure moments later, going back to giving out wafers while trying his best to ignore the heat of the stranger’s gaze.

 

To most of the churchgoers he probably looks like nothing more than another lost soul, a brother in Christ that’s visiting. Jongin’s grown to be more cynical than he’d like to be.

 

He tells himself it’s out of weariness that he looks over whenever the other male’s distracted, but deep down he knows that curiosity’s been ignited in him, the same one that he’s tried so hard to keep under wraps.

 

It makes his throat dry and body stiff and Jongin’s beyond uncomfortable, switching between fidgeting on the spot and swallowing far harder than he should.

 

“There’s just something about him”, he muses while staring blatantly, lips downturned.

 

The stranger is in a suit, his briefcase tucked tightly between digits that thrum against the hard shell of the case every couple of seconds.

 

_A businessman of sorts?_

 

With his hair slicked back artfully and the slight curve at the corner of his lips, it’s as if this person--- whoever he is--- _knows_ that people are staring at him, embraces the attention that’s on him.

 

There’s an air of superiority to him, mere presence commanding despite being a couple centimeters shorter than Jongin himself. It’s in the way he carries himself confidently in an unfamiliar environment, another thing that Jongin’s convinced he’ll never be able to do.

 

But perhaps it’s the stranger’s lips that catches most of Jongin’s attention. Plump, with a defined cupid’s bow--- he can’t look away and the other male notices, pressing said lips into a tiny smirk.

 

Jongin flusters.

 

Another ten minutes of Jongin trying not to stare, and _succeeding_ , passes and he’s starting to feel pretty damn proud of himself, performing his duties with practiced ease. He allows himself to revel in this little victory, the initial nervousness that he felt dissipating with every wafer served.

 

_Maybe I really had nothing to worry about._

 

He’s grown comfortable, something he really shouldn’t have slipped into.

 

The sound of dress shoes clicking against tile is a slap to the face--- Jongin raises his head slowly, completely sure of who stands before him now but stalling with all his might, either way. A thousand possibilities run through his head all at once. Each is different but all lead to the same, humiliating outcome--- he had been caught staring and the consequence probably more than undesirable.

 

The stranger’s quiet, only standing in line patiently as the queue proceeds towards Jongin, not once looking in his direction although he couldn’t seem to stop staring only moments prior. It has Jongin’s hand trembling.

 

The man is far more captivating up close, he learns.

 

He’s definitely older than Jongin thought, frown lines more visible, along with the wrinkle between his brows. _Maybe twenty-five? Or twenty-eight, somewhere between those ages._

 

An angular jaw shapes his face, thick eyebrows above a set of deep brown orbs, ones that bore into Jongin’s after he takes a step towards the Priest. He’s standing a reasonable distance away but it feels so much closer than the other people that have stood before him.

 

The lips that had caught his attention in the first place are sultrier than he had thought. A wide bow of flushed pink--- one that quirks up into another smirk at the way Jongin gapes openly.

 

With palms pressed together now, the newcomer keeps his eyes open while parting his lips and opening his mouth. It’s a normal gesture, one that Jongin should respond to without any qualms or reservations, but it doesn’t stop him from hesitating, fingers fumbling over the dish of wafers and threatening to drop them on the ground.

 

A low chuckle catches Jongin’s attention. It’s almost inaudible, but the male in front of him is _laughing_ , probably not with him, but _at_ him and he doesn’t know if he should be insulted or embarrassed. He’s bewildered, eyes widening at the act. Again, it doesn’t go unnoticed and he’s starting to wonder if this man is an expert at reading expressions, or if Jongin simply wears his heart on his sleeve.

 

There’s amusement now, in his gaze, eyes glinting with a hint of danger that Jongin should most definitely run away from, like how he has all his life. But he doesn’t, refuses to let this person--- who he knows _nothing_ of--- tear down everything that he’s worked for.

 

Jongin is a man of God, and his heart belongs to the church.

 

With that, he picks up the wafer and places it onto the other male’s tongue, a forced but amicable smile playing on his lips. It’s the same one that he gives to all members of the congregation.

 

If he’s fazed, the slightly shorter male doesn’t allow it to show on his face, receiving it as graciously as it’s given.

 

“The body of Christ that’s broken for you. Take, eat in remembrance of Him”, Jongin says, shocked at how steady his voice sounds.

 

Before he can take his fingers away, the stranger has his lips wrapped around his finger, brushing across it subtly, but in a way that Jongin knows the other had planned for. It’s only after recovering that he snaps back as if he’s been scalded, Adam’s Apple bobbing with how hard he’s swallowing.

 

And there’s that same twist of the lips that adorns the stranger’s face, one that Jongin picks up almost too easily now, despite it barely being there.

 

“Amen.”

 

Jongin doesn’t think he’ll be able to get that voice out of his head. 


	2. My Kingdom for Your Graces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote bits and pieces of this before my hiatus so if my writing seems different at various parts, that's definitely why. also: completely un-proofread ( as usual ) because i always write in the dead of night when i'm barely awake. until next time!

The crowd’s started to dissipate after the service, members of the congregation slowly filtering out of the chapel with smiles on their faces. It’s always this part that’s the most fulfilling, he finds, leading a community of people in their walk with God.

 

Standing by the entrance and bidding goodbye to familiar faces, Jongin keeps a look out for the man from before, the prior proceedings everything but forgotten. The rain has stopped but he’s still highly strung, eyes guarded and gaze distance, the completely opposite of the smile plastered on his lips.

 

But even after he’s done shaking hands with the stragglers, the man is nowhere to be seen.

 

_Perhaps he left early._

 

Jongin mulls over the thought in disappointment, something he’d never admit to being. He ignores the heat that lingers on the tips of his fingers, the ones the stranger had his lips wrapped around.

 

He shakes his head as if the physical motion itself would be able to shake the impure thoughts away. It doesn’t work, to say the least, instead drawing concerned looks from the rest of the Fathers. Jongin brushes them off quickly with a smile in their direction before taking off with the perfect excuse--- his duty in the confessional booth for those who need guidance after the sermon. They don’t question his strange behavior and Jongin’s grateful, finally managing to catch his breath when he reaches the booth.

 

When he’s finally calmed down, a few words of prayer are spoken to prepare his heart and clear his mind of all inequities. Today’s different, and he can’t seem to bring himself to focus fully but he proceeds with the duty nonetheless, pushing the door open and taking a seat.

 

It’s not long before the curtain on the other side is being drawn open, the rustling of fabric informing Jongin of the person that sits across him, separated by a wall. He’s been told not to look through the serrated panels or directly at the person confessing in the event that it makes them uncomfortable, which is most often the case. It isn’t any different this time, with Jongin staring at the door before him rather than side wards at the person.

 

“In the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen”, he starts with the sign of the cross, still not completely comfortable with the idea of having another person pour out their deepest most fears and sins to him. He’d have to get used to it eventually, but evidently, half a year of practice doesn’t come close to being enough.

 

There was always something so _intimate_ about these confessions; something innately perturbing that Jongin never fails to feel apprehensive towards. But as with every time he does this, he puts those feelings aside, opening his heart to whatever the person has to say.

 

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness”, Jongin continues, repeating what the Deacon had said during the benediction.

 

The person had yet to utter a word, keeping completely silent in favour of shifting around slightly--- perhaps in unease.

 

A few more minutes pass in complete soundlessness besides the occasional ruffle of the curtain, and Jongin’s starting to feel anxious. He’s dealt with people _crying_ in the booth, but never one that’s kept quiet the whole time.

 

“Don’t worry, your confession is confidential and it is my absolute duty to not disclose anything you say outside this booth”, he says in a way he hopes is soothing, trying to coax the visitor into saying something.

 

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned”, the man drawls, voice startlingly familiar. It’s spoken lightly, insincerity tainting the words that he’s heard innumerable times.

 

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he’s met with the same intense eyes when he turns, ones that pierce into his.

 

Jongin pales, and when he doesn’t continue, the other man speaks up again, louder this time.

 

“Father I am well aware of my sins, but my life of debauchery is not something I’m ready to give up,” his voice is suggestive, lower and more gravelly at certain words. “There is sin that I can’t resist, and I’m not repentant, not at all. I have lived through hardship to get where I am now, and therefore I expect to get everything I so desire now. You see, I’m too stubborn for my own good, once I see something I want, I’ll go to _any_ and _every_ length to get it.”

 

He pauses here, and Jongin can see the conceited smile that’s perched on his lips, the same ones that he’s been thinking about for the last hour or so. It’s obvious that he’s no longer talking about _things_ per se, especially with the way that he’s leering at Jongin.

 

“Is that wrong?” The question comes out more like a statement to mock the Priest, and with his fists clenched on either side of him, Jongin exhales through his nose.

 

Suddenly he’s sixteen and lost again, afraid and confused in the very four walls that were supposed to bring him peace. Everything that he’s fought so hard to achieve for the past six years give in to the insecurities that he had felt before.

 

A _sinner_. Sure, he knew that he was one, everyone was, but loving God had always been easier to swallow than admitting that he was born different, stripped from grace and leading a life of well-hidden transgressions beneath the image of priesthood. Truth is, Jongin has never known what it means to love a man, and never plans on finding out. Life has conditioned him into thinking that he can’t love men and God at the same time. He stays true to this.

 

The emotions that flicker across his expression must be conspicuous because the other male is chuckling again, a look of satisfaction resting on his features.

 

“I had a feeling that you’d get riled up. Must be hard, huh? A priest that’s _gay_ , can’t say that I’ve heard that one. You’re interesting.”

 

Jongin’s blood runs cold, adrenaline pumping through his veins in overtime. He wants to deny it vehemently, call the other out for being rude and presumptuous of a _Priest_ , no less. But as with every time he’s met with those dark, soul searching eyes, Jongin’s rendered into a mess of incoherent thought patterns and a lost voice, merely staring at the man, who’s standing on his feet now, no doubt getting ready to leave.

 

“ _Kyungsoo_. My name is Kyungsoo. Figured you deserved to know.” The tone Kyungsoo adopts is lighthearted, as if he hadn’t just uncovered a secret that Jongin himself hasn’t thought about in years.

 

“You’ll be hearing a lot more from me, _Father Jongin_. I see now that you’re more than just a pretty face.”

 

The curtains are pulled away from the frame and Kyungsoo steps out of the booth. Jongin lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Fire licks at the pits of his stomach and for once, he allows it to consume him.

 

//

 

Kyungsoo stays true to his word, much to Jongin’s displeasure.

 

It starts with coming earlier for service; unlike the first time they met, where he entered halfway through service, hair slightly matted by the downpour.

 

Jongin wants nothing but to tell the other Priests about what Kyungsoo has done and use it as an excuse to turn him away--- but despite how _deplorable_ the older male is, he can never bring himself to estrange someone from the house of the Lord. It seems like too much to ask for, especially with a reason as flimsy as “he said some things that made me uncomfortable”, which would only lead to more questioning. Jongin couldn’t afford that.

 

And so he takes his time with Kyungsoo, who proves to be a lot more persistent than he’d expect. The previous conversation is dropped completely, and sometimes Jongin wonders if it’s slipped Kyungsoo’s mind. But the elation from the possibility of him forgetting is quickly misplaced with the meaningful looks that Kyungsoo sends his way and the way he allows his fingers to linger across Jongin’s skin when he reaches forward to tuck a lock of hair behind the Priest’s ear.

 

He hasn’t forgotten, is nowhere near forgetting.

 

Jongin thinks maybe _he’d_ be better off buried under the pews.

 

With the regular church visits comes a lot more time spent together. Steering clear of Kyungsoo would be an option if he wasn’t painfully determined to make Jongin uncomfortable in his own skin-- Or so he _thinks_ that’s the reason Kyungsoo stays around.

 

 _Could there be any other reason than to keep me on my feet?_ That’s definitely why he hasn’t told anyone about his little discovery.

 

Drawing this out with carefully placed touches that make Jongin shiver down to his toes, and sultry words that leave him breathless. It’s torture in the highest, most deadly form, and Jongin flushes from all the mocking. He doesn’t know if it’s from shame or arousal.

 

The thought of Kyungsoo telling the other Priests still lingers heavy at the back of his mind, taunting him with every interaction. His tongue swells at the thought of having to deflect any sort of accusations that might come his way.

 

Kyungsoo himself has no real evidence against Jongin, but he’s unsure that he’ll be able to lie to these men he’s grown to respect, to the church, and most of all, to _God_. Lying to himself is easy enough; he’s been doing that for years now under the perfect guise of chastity and faithful worship, but it’s more _real_ now that Kyungsoo’s spoken the words.

 

He could have spent his whole life ignoring the little part of him that’s been tucked away, but Kyungsoo’s unearthed Pandora’s box and now everything’s threatening to spill forth. Jongin is equal parts disgusted and confused.

 

It’s easier to put these things aside when Kyungsoo speaks to him in low tones and makes him lose sight of everything that’s on his mind.

 

There are occasions when Jongin almost forgets whatever that had transpired, moments where Kyungsoo has his hair down, soft against his forehead, and comes adorned in a round-necked sweater and faded jeans. He asks questions like he’s genuinely interested, catches Jongin’s gaze and smiles without his teeth.

 

//

 

“What is it that you love so much about God?”

 

Jongin laughs at the question. “Is there really a legitimate answer to that?”

 

Brows furrowed, Kyungsoo nods.

 

“Of course. He wouldn’t the love of so many if he were a deadbeat. So tell me, what is it that _you_ love about him?”

 

If Jongin were foolish enough, he would’ve picked that sentence apart in the wee hours of the morning and deem it jealousy.

 

Instead, Jongin smiles, the kind he’s reserved for new believers, and takes Kyungsoo’s hand in his like he’s about to bow his head in prayer.

 

“You will understand in due time. Faith is one’s own personal journey. What I feel may not necessarily reflect in you, but you will love Him all the same, just as I do.”

 

Kyungsoo makes no move to express his displeasure, despite how it shows all over his face. Jongin figures that it’s too soon to lead him into the Sinner’s Prayer, but he recites the first lines in his heart whenever he finds himself looking at Kyungsoo for one moment too long.

 

_Heavenly Father, I come to you in prayer asking for forgiveness of my sin._

 

//

 

It’s all too easy to fall into these carefully spun webs—Jongin’s always been a little too trusting. Too forgiving. He wears his heart on his sleeve and expects everyone to do the same. He’ll fall into the same pit twice and not think twice about having one foot off the ground.

 

Kyungsoo tells him about himself. There’s always a placidness that’s off-putting about the way he speaks about his life. Like he’s detached from its happenings and is a mere spectator in this whirlwind of events that chronicles his entire being. Broken and made whole through the power of money and status. A lost soul now with nowhere to go past material gain.

 

Kyungsoo is someone Jongin thinks he might have related to in another life. Not in this one, where he’s been sanctified through the power of Christ and has been brought up to frown upon the tangible.

 

_Why lay your hands on the treasures of the earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal. For where your treasure is in heaven, your heart will be also._

 

There is no place in heaven for what you can touch with your own two hands.

 

( Does he slip from his place in heaven with every touch Kyungsoo bestows him? Is he not a hypocrite for having his skin sing with pleasure? )

 

He tells Kyungsoo about the rain. The way it fell on the day he was left, how it feels against his skin, lips, in his hair, over closed eyelids. How it keeps happening in the most opportune moments, like God’s trying to give him a sign of an awakening of some sort. And _maybe_ he’s just overthinking it, but... but--- Kyungsoo squeezes over his knee and Jongin remembers to breathe.

 

He speaks his questions out loud for the first time.

 

_What does it mean?_

 

_Does it even have a meaning?_

 

_Why does it mean so much to me?_

 

( What Jongin doesn’t tell him, however, is how the heavy downpour brought Kyungsoo to him. )

 

Kyungsoo takes it all in with a slight curve to his lips, making Jongin forget about the hand he has on his thigh that _should_ make him uncomfortable. It doesn’t. It doesn’t and it scares him.

 

But there are other moments where reality feels like a harsh slap to the face. Where Kyungsoo comes in with his hair slicked up, looking just like how he did on that first rainy day, eyes glinting under candlelight and canines peeking over his bottom lip. Devilishly handsome and devastatingly _bad_ for Jongin.

 

His web of deception starts to show when he slides his hands over Jongin’s robes suggestively when they pass each other to the confessional booth and stares like he’s undressing him with his eyes. Speaks in tongues and talks about dragging it all over Jongin’s neck while the Deacon isn’t looking.

 

He hates it, the way he shrinks with every filthy promise and heated gaze. He hates that he’s responding instead of turning on his heel and running. Every reciprocated glance is one step further from heaven, and he’s so lost in this game Kyungsoo’s playing that he’s starting lose grasp of everything he’s been taught. His rational mind screams that Kyungsoo is a liar, a cheat and a manipulator who will rob Jongin of all he’s ever known, but every time he tries to take a step back, he’s drawn in closer.

 

The curiosity in his youth has never really dissipated like he had hoped. Under the veil of acceptance, he remains very much the boy who asked too many questions. Who wished to know too much. Who will eventually meet his demise with his incessant inquisitiveness.

 

Kyungsoo is an enigma he’ll never be able to wrap his mind around. One moment he’s the snarky asshole who teases, pulls and pushes until Jongin’s taut and embarrassingly frustrated, and the next, he’s quiet murmurs and lingering gazes. A poignant softness laying just beneath the surface which he wants so much to know and understand.

 

There is no doubt in his mind that every part of Kyungsoo he’s seen is real and true. But he’s not sure if which side he should be wearier of. He’s not even sure if he could bring himself to hate either part of Kyungsoo.

 

There’s just something intriguing about how different they are; the stark contrast between light and dark, good and evil, how the line blurs between them and how they bleed into each other. He’s everything Jongin’s not, the personification of sin itself, out for all to see. Jongin sees, believes in something other than God, and beyond fascinated, he’s drawn into Kyungsoo’s shadow and sunk into his world before he can utter a word of repentance.

 

It starts with hesitant touches, flushed cheeks and heated ears. Kyungsoo knows, he always knows, always smirks when he sees what’s happening. Jongin’s conflicted and snaps back whenever he’s allowed to realise the implications of his actions. Curling upon himself whenever he’s left to think. Kyungsoo throws all rational thought out and forces him to rely solely on instinct. Instinct always guides Jongin back to him.

 

Kyungsoo is as demanding as his mere presence suggests. There is no going slow with him when he’s set his mind to something he desires-- he hadn’t been lying the first time around when he told Jongin that he’d have him. He dipped his foot into the water and now Kyungsoo’s dragging him down into it fully without guilt. Jongin can’t say he feels anything but exhilaration. Drowning has never felt this right; he’d gladly drown in Kyungsoo if that was all it took.

 

//

 

The first time they kiss it’s all teeth. Kyungsoo pushes him into one of the backrooms on his way to retrieve more wafers for the ongoing Sunday Communion, a chore asked of him by another Priest on duty. Kyungsoo had spent the whole of Saturday whispering dirty words into Jongin’s ear and making his toes curl in what he refuses to admit is want. After twenty-two years of suppressing his deepest desires, he’s barely teetering over the edge of giving Kyungsoo what he wants. The carnal need in him chips at his resolve.

 

So when he’s finally backed into a dusty shelf and kissed with a bruising force, he barely notices the wood pressing into his back. All he can do is try to keep up with the lips against his while trying not to moan and alert anyone in the chapel. Kyungsoo kisses him like he’s the one drowning and not the other way around, his grip on him tight and unforgiving. Jongin pants out broken scripture and whimpers gospel. All that he’s been running from catches up with him in a heartbeat.

 

Regret hangs over him, ugly and startling, but before he can reach for the loose threads, he’s drawn in for another kiss.

 

No one seems to notice anything is amiss. The Deacon thanks him for his prompt work in ensuring the service runs smoothly. Jongin sucks on his bottom lip for the rest of the service and clasps his hands together so he doesn’t reach out for Kyungsoo when it’s his turn to receive the sacraments.

 

The kisses turn into something else entirely. They aren’t enough to sate Kyungsoo, and soon enough, Jongin himself.

 

And before he knows it, Kyungsoo has him pressed up against the one of the walls of the Chapel, lips attached firmly to the expanse of his caramel skin, each kiss lighting fires within him. Jongin’s never been kissed like this before, hell, he hasn’t been kissed _at all_ before Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo is every bit intense as he’d imagined--- kisses fierce, as _demanding_ as the first time.

 

Jongin pleads for him to stop, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly in a weak tug. Anyone could come in and stumble upon the Priest being ravished, and god-forbid, by another _man_ , but Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to care, fingers encircling Jongin’s wrists almost painfully as he rips them away from his shirt and pins his arms up against the surface of the wall.

 

Empty words echo in the empty chapel.

 

His fingers dig into the fabric of Kyungsoo's shirt, breathless moans leaving parted lips in soft huffs, ones that he can't hold back. His skin prickles where Kyungsoo's touches him, kisses him, igniting fires in their wake. A strangled gasp forces its way out his throat at the way their hips press into each other, struggling to dig the heel of his palm into the older's shoulder like he had been doing initially to push him away.

 

This is exactly what he wanted, the kisses, the soft brushes against his skin, the desperate way they fit into each other. Kyungsoo looks at him intensely, like he always has, eyes glinting dangerously— the personification of sin. But even though he's been running from sin all his life, Jongin indulges himself in one more kiss, and a couple hundred other as the pleads for Kyungsoo to stop morph into pleasured moans.

 

"Kyungsoo...”, he says instead, breathy, and thoroughly turned on. Kyungsoo reciprocates this with a firm palm against the front of Jongin's trousers, kneading the hardening flesh expertly and making the younger putty in his hands. The lips that were pressed into his neck now press heated kisses into his collarbones, nipping at the sensitive flesh unhurriedly. Jongin's hips press up into the warmth of Kyungsoo's hands unabashedly, seeking friction. He can feel himself losing control— surrendering to someone other than God is something he would've scoffed at in disgust if he were more coherent, but when deft fingers slip under the waistband of his pants, all inhibitions are lost.

 

He crumbles at Kyungsoo's feet, coming undone with every whispered command.

 

//

 

Holy one drawn down from heaven back to Earth; bit the apple, kissed the serpent, _fell_ from grace.

**Author's Note:**

> long overdue repost of the original over on aff / lj under the same username.


End file.
